gershon hepner Poems

Bake each day like bread, as fresh
as loaves you put into the oven,
but make sure you don’t toast the flesh,
by adding spirit when you daven.
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Egyptians, Babylonians, Persians rose and passed away,
the Greeks and Romans made a noise but now lie in repose,
but undeterred the poet, emulating Rabelais,
outrageously ignores his critics while he picks his nose.
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Maureen Dowd has suggested Obama should spread
no more balm from the New Testament,
but turn to God’s wrath in the One that is said
to be older, and from Sinai-sent,
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Nothing is sacred except for the mind,
said Spinoza. While sometimes he thought this was true,
he often spoke differently. Need I remind
you that Baruch Spinoza was born as a Jew,
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Giving the mundane its beautiful due
he achieved when he strewed like confetti
his books and short stories, plus poems I view
as arias to his fine libretti,
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It came to him the other day,
and happened quite the very way
he had predicted. Empty, old,
his promise had been oversold,
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Wild nights! Wild nights!
said Emily.
so femmeily,
demand your rights!
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Some things cease to have a life
once you write a poem,
or you tell them to you wife,
and you let her know ’em.
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Hedging our bets with ours ifs, ans and buts
provides us, we think, with protection,
but when Harry Kinnard to Germans said “Nuts! ”
he showed them he had an objection
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Though both of my two hands are deft,
I do not want to use the left;
when I between your thighs tonight
slide one, I think I’ll use the right.
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